


ending start

by annperkinsface



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annperkinsface/pseuds/annperkinsface
Summary: "Would you put this above or below any of the worst Nelson family Christmases?" Karen asks. It's morning. There's coffee and scrambled eggs and no bullet holes in the plaster. She's had worst Christmases, all things considered."Oh, below," Foggy says. His bedhead is truly something to behold. "Way, way below."





	

**ONE.**

 

Matt says, "I'm Daredevil," and holds out the mask like an offering, like a benediction.

He's wearing his glasses. Hiding even now. Karen stands and looks at him. Her mouth twists.

"So _what_ ," she spits. "Congratulations, you're a hero after all, but not to me. Not to Foggy." She thinks about Daredevil— _Matt's_ —hand on her face. Fingers gentle but Kevlar rough, strange. He's saved her over and over. He's never once given her the truth. She swallows and it's like glass scraping the inside of her throat. "This doesn't change a goddamn thing."

Matt nods. He looks smaller in the desolate office space. Miserable. She turns her head to the window. The pane is frosted.

"I know," Matt says, thickly; "I just—" He breaks off. Maybe his throat works. Maybe his mouth is trembling. Karen digs her nails into the underside of her arms and doesn't let herself look, closing her eyes tightly. It's been a long year. She's tired, so tired, but she thinks: you just what. His sigh breaks the quiet then the crinkling of a paper bag. His cane taps away. "Merry Christmas, Karen."

The door closes. She stands for a long time, breathing, trying to will away the burning in her eyes. It's stupid. Things end, and start, and end again. Even loss gets routine after a while.

She opens her eyes, sighing. She looks around, lingering on the dust and the cobwebs. A home once or something like it. Now it was just an office. Maybe that's all it ever was.

God, she needs a smoke.

She digs around the pockets of her coat for her lighter and lights one up. She takes a long drag, exhales, smoke wisping from her mouth and into the empty room. "Merry fucking Christmas," she says.

 

 

 

**TWO.**

 

_What's a hero?_

The question lingers long after she's hit delete.

 

 

 

**THREE.**

 

She sends Foggy five knife emojis on the cab ride home. The elevator's out of maintenance so she's walking up seven flights of stairs when he hits her back with: _what did christmas ever do to you._

She cycles through a couple different responses and settles on a devil emoji and then a skull one. He'll either get it or he won't. Judging by the _shit_ she gets less than a full minute later, immediately followed with a _josie's?_ he gets her loud and clear.

Karen's making a face at the suggestion when her phone vibrates again: _never mind, not josie's. i'm coming over._

She stands in the stairwell, gnawing on her lip. She could tell him to fuck off but doesn't. She painstakingly types out _bring booze_ and pockets her phone without telling him about the elevator. She can't say she isn't mad at him.

"I deserved that," Foggy says, seven flights of stairs and several unanswered _oh my god i'm going to die; i'm dying karen; this is it i'm dead; please save enough booze to pour out on my grave_ texts later, looking sweaty and repentant.

"You're lucky booze is all I wanted," Karen tells him. "I could have kicked your ass or extorted you for the next five years."

"You are, as ever, a paragon of kindness," Foggy says, proffering the bag of booze and smiling hopefully. She takes it, something in her chest unknotting a little.

That anger and hurt is still there though, even if Matt isn't, and they settle on either end of the couch and look at her Christmas lights instead of each other, drinking whiskey in one of the longest silences they've ever shared.

"I wanted to tell you," Foggy confesses four drinks in, making Karen's throat tighten and her fingers whiten around her glass. "So many times."

"But you didn't," Karen says, sharply.

"No," he says, quietly; "I didn't."

They lapse into silence again.

She swishes her whiskey around, thinking about the parts of Matt he never let her see or touch, how it took his life burning down around him to be honest with her. She thinks about secrets and tiny law firms built on them: the things she doesn't tell Foggy and Matt, the things they don't tell her. She almost wants to laugh. She thinks: we're all so fucked up.

"Matt's Daredevil," she says—just to say it, really. It should feel like a final puzzle piece sliding into place. Mostly, it doesn't feel real.

She can feel Foggy's eyes on her. "Yeah."

"And he told me on Christmas."

"Yeah."

She angles her head. They stare at each other.

"What a _dick_."

Foggy shakes his head, mouth curling. "How The Daredevil Ruined Christmas. There's a holiday special for you."

"God," she says. "He couldn't have waited a day? Literally just one?"

"This is Matt Murdock we're talking about here," Foggy says. "Settling for a major holiday was downright considerate of him. He could've sprung this on you at a funeral."

Karen, glass of whiskey raised partially to her lips, almost snorts it out her nose.

It's still Christmas and Matt's still Daredevil. But Foggy's watching her, bright and fond, leaning his head back against the arm of the sofa. Foggy, whose only secrets belong to other people.

Karen leans forward to set the half full glass on the table then turns to Foggy, uncurling her legs from under her. "Shove over," she says, pushing his legs onto the floor. Foggy makes a noise of protest but lifts his arm accommodatingly when she tries to wriggle under it. It's a tight fit but worth it for Foggy's sweater under her cheek and his arm curving comfortingly over her shoulder. She breathes. It's nice. She could use more nice things. "You're going to tell me everything," she murmurs, closing her eyes, "but in the morning, when we're way less hungover."

"Sounds like a plan," Foggy agrees, threading his other hand through her hair. "In the meantime, let me tell you about the top five worst Nelson family Christmases..."

Karen hides her smile in his chest and ends up falling asleep somewhere between three and four.

 

 

**FOUR.**

 

"Would you put this above or below any of the worst Nelson family Christmases?" Karen asks. It's morning. There's coffee and scrambled eggs and no bullet holes in the plaster. She's had worst Christmases, all things considered.

"Oh, below," Foggy says. His bedhead is truly something to behold. "Way, way below."

Karen hums and doesn't call bullshit. The shadows under both their eyes say plenty.

("It's not even the ninjas," Foggy says. He pauses. "It's not even _just_ the ninjas. It's everything: the lying, the recklessness, the casual disregard of not just his life, but our whole partnership. I mean, Jesus, we should've had your name on the door, not his, for all the work you were putting in."

She mulls it over, cradling her world's best secretary mug close. Foggy keeps threatening to strike out secretary and write investigative journalist.  "Nelson and Page. Has a nice ring to it."

His smile is a wan thing, all the more cherished. "It does, doesn't it?"

The 'but not as good as Nelson and Murdock' goes unspoken, but some moments are enough, as it is.)

**Author's Note:**

> god, what is this even. WRITING. friendship is so important though, especially foggy and karen's.


End file.
